


Sharing with Slytherins

by xUnivxrse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drunken Confessions, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Gryffindor/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Love Confessions, M/M, Pansy and Blaise are little shits, Spin the Bottle, Truth or Dare, Unbetaed we die like men, Veritaserum, but we love them, eighth year being eighth year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 12:53:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18604909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xUnivxrse/pseuds/xUnivxrse
Summary: Interhouse unity was good and all, until it wasn’t. It took a mere hour before Harry decided that no, he was certainly not fond of sharing a dorm with the Slytherins.He didn’t come to this conclusion for the reasons one may think - they didn’t hex or jinx him, they weren’t gits (at least obnoxiously so), and in general, they were actually fairly decent people. The main cause of Harry’s unease was a certain blonde haired prat - and still, Malfoy wasn’t doing anything infuriatingly rude either.No, Harry’s problem with the Slytherins was that he considered a dripping wet Draco Malfoy as an attempt on his life. Was that over dramatic? He didn’t think so.





	Sharing with Slytherins

Interhouse unity was good and all, until it wasn’t. It took a mere hour before Harry decided that, no, he was certainly not fond of sharing a dorm with the Slytherins.

 

He didn’t come to this conclusion for the reasons one may think - they didn’t hex or jinx him, they weren’t gits (at least obnoxiously so), and in general, they were actually fairly decent people. The cause of Harry’s unease with the Slytherins was a certain blonde haired prat - and still, Malfoy wasn’t doing anything infuriatingly rude either.

 

It was Harry - Harry was the problem.

 

After Hogwarts had welcomed the first years and finished off their feast, all the students had headed up to their common rooms. For the eighth years, this meant exploring a new space.

 

Their common room was luxurious, with large couches and cushions surrounding a huge, roaring fireplace. The scheme was - unsurprisingly - a mix of stylishly placed reds, greens, yellows, and blues. The colors didn’t clash as bad as one would have thought, and upon saying so out loud, Hermione and Parkinson had soon flopped down to discuss room design. They were talking so adamantly that when Ron attempted to join, the girls threw ideas and opinions at him so fast he didn’t quite know which question to answer first.

 

The more it went on, the more constipated poor Ron’s face became, and Harry thought with an amused grin that he should probably rescue him, as the redhead fidgeted uncomfortably with no escape in sight.

 

Luckily for him, Harry coughed and tilted his head towards the stairs, still grinning mischievously, and Ron seized the opportunity, quickly mumbling out something about checking out their rooms before fleeing after Harry.

 

Each boy had a separate bedroom, and it was just as strange as it was pleasant. Harry found himself slightly disappointed that he couldn’t simply turn his head for a quick night chat with Ron - but he supposed that was what the common room was for. Some normality returned in the sense that the bathrooms still had to be shared.

 

No one saw that as a problem, really. The students of Hogwarts were used to sharing bathrooms, and after eight years, there was not one word of complaint. That was, at least, until Harry had tried to get a head start on his shower and practically walked in on no one other than Draco Malfoy.

 

The blonde had just been exiting the bathrooms, soaking wet and scarcely clad. There was a towel tied around his waist, and another one being held to his head, which Malfoy ruffled around to dry his hair as he walked. Water trickled slowly down his chest, rolling and curving over pale skin, outlining muscles that had evened out Malfoy’s old pointy features, muscles that Harry hadn’t known the blonde had.

 

Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away, and in the back of his head he was distantly annoyed because _seriously, didn’t Malfoy have the ability to dry himself off? Was it that hard?_

 

Stuck watching the water roll down pale skin, skipping over scars that made Harry’s heart clench with guilt, before disappearing into a towel that sat dangerously low on strong hips, the Boy Who Lived nearly missed the nod of acknowledgement and the surprisingly friendly “Potter” that followed.

 

“Malfoy,” Harry nodded back, quickly tearing his gaze back up to the blondes face.

 

As he entered the shower, feeling very uncomfortable, Harry decided that yes, sharing the dorms with Slytherins was going to be very troubling indeed.

 

After all, the way Malfoy had carelessly walked out of the bathroom, dripping wet with just a flimsy towel around his waist, was surely an attempt on poor Harry’s life.

 

§

 

Slytherins, Harry decided, were officially not okay.

 

When Parkinson came strutting into the common room, a devious grin on her face, Harry knew he was done for. The snakes must be out to get him - they had to be - because why else would the brunette whip out a bottle of Veritaserum and declare that the entirety of their year should play a game of truth or dare?

 

Harry wished he hadn’t come back for eighth year, truly. How much easier life would’ve been.

 

It wasn’t long before he, along with everyone else, was herded into a large circle. A few Gryffindors and Slytherins cast uneasy glances at each other, but besides that, this bloody interhouse unity thing was working out. Everyone was just fine.

 

Everyone except Harry - he was caught up in his head, a mild panic settling deep in his chest and pulsating throughout heavy limbs. He had so many secrets that needed to be kept, so many secrets that the Veritaserum could pull out of him as easily as if plucking a feather. Not to mention the fact that he had ended up wedged between Malfoy and Hermione, and just being this close to the blonde made Harry’s stomach clench up uncomfortably.

 

Harry eyed Parkinson as she put a few drops of Veritaserum into a large bottle of firewhisky, and robotically took a swig from the bottle when it was passed to him. The burn of it in his veins helped ease the panic away, and the comforting brush Hermione offered him as she took the offered bottle allowed Harry to sigh out the rest of his unease - though the rather strange feeling he got from Malfoy did not vanish.

 

“Okay!” Parkinson smirked gleefully. “Now that you’ve all had a drink, let’s begin! Neville, truth or dare?”

 

“Uhm,” Neville gulped, “Truth?”

 

“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’re grandma has ever given you?”

 

At this, poor Neville turned bright red and stammered for a good moment, before the Veritaserum had the truth spilling from his lips. “She... she gave me a dildo, once, because she thought I was gay - I’m not though, honest!”

 

The circle erupted into peals of laughter, as a bright red Neville slipped a glance at Luna, who was smiling softly in a very Luna-like fashion. Of course, he picked her next, and with Harry’s luck, she picked him.

 

“Truth or dare, Harry?”

 

“...Dare?” He said slowly, and then took in Luna’s passive face, enough to make him reconsider. “Actually, no, I take that back, truth.”

 

“Okay.” Her whimsical voice echoed throughout the room. Everyone was curious as to what the great Harry Potter would reveal, but Luna’s question surprised them all. “What does a crush feel like to you?”

 

Harry went silent, considering, opening and closing his mouth once or twice. The question wasn’t all that bad, as far as truth or dare goes - thank the heavens Pansy hadn’t called on him - but still, he was a bit unsure on how to go about answering the question.

 

“Well,” he paused again, feeling the unnerving tug of Veritaserum in his veins. “I... Maybe... Well - it’s... It’s uncomfortable, you’re uncomfortable, around them, I mean... uh, you always seek them out in a crowd, and you notice tiny little things about them. You think about them more than you should and sometimes, well... sometimes the thought of them keeps you up at night, because, well, you know...”

 

Somewhere to his left, Pansy clapped, a shit eating grin on her face, and a few others joined in.

 

“Whew!” Seamus grinned, “Harry’s sure got it bad for someone, right, Dean?”

 

The boys elbowed each other in the ribs, grinning teasingly at Harry, who flushed slightly.

 

“I don—“ The Veritaserum wouldn’t let him finish the sentence. “I swear I don—“

 

Seamus and Dean erupted into roaring laughter, followed closely by Ron and many other Gryffindors. Harry’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and Luna smiled sympathetically at him.

 

“It’s okay, Harry,” she said in her singsong voice, a sweet smile gracing her lips, “Everyone here has a crush. The nargels don’t lie. You’re no different!”

 

Harry glowered, his cheeks burning. “I swear I didn’t think I did.”

 

The damned potion let him say that, so at least everyone knew it was true. This got Harry thinking, though - who _did_ he like? Who did he feel uncomfortable around? Who did his gaze linger just a tad too long on? Who did he lose sleep over?

 

The answer came to him, a truth in and of itself - Harry couldn’t lie to his mind, even though the Veritaserum didn’t reach his thoughts.

 

 _Malfoy._  It was fucking Malfoy. Malfoy and his taunting smirk, which quirked up at the corners and never failed to drive Harry mad, Malfoy and his stupid, ugly towel that had to be wrapped incorrectly, because how was it normal to sit on someone’s waist that low? Malfoy and his insufferable silver eyes that accented his gorgeous blonde hair and his horribly well shaped face and fuck, how could Harry like Malfoy? Harry hated Malfoy.

 

A venomous sense of denial welled up in his chest, suddenly, viciously, and Harry almost jolted at the force of it. Harry hadn’t even known he was gay - not that he hadn’t had his suspicions, of course, but he had never really _liked_ a guy, just looked at the passing seventh year once or twice, admiring in the hallways. Being gay wasn’t such a big deal, really - it was the fact that it was Draco Malfoy, of all people. It didn’t sit well with Harry at all - he felt like he was going to drown, was struggling to keep his head above water even as he shot a glance at Malfoy’s stupid face, who was staring at him expectantly. Wait - why?

 

“Harry,” Hermione murmured, squeezing his arm. “Harry, it’s your turn to ask someone.”

 

And so his disbelief and denial was bottled and shoved to the back of his mind to cool. “Blaise, truth or dare?”

 

“Dare,” a smug grin spread over the Slytherins face, and his friends looked at him in amusement.

 

“I dare you to...” A quick glance around the room and the kiss-y face Ron was directing at him was enough incentive for Harry to say “I dare you to go make out with that pole.”

 

Blaise scoffed. “How in the hell am I supposed to—“

 

Sniggers cut him off as Harry flicked his wand, and the concrete transfigured into the face of no other than Professor McGonagall.

 

“Blimey, mate, that wasn’t really what I had in mind, but...”

 

Ron trailed off as ‘Professor McGonagall’ cleared her throat, before a crude imitation of her voice called out obscenely.

 

“Come take me, daddy Blaise!”

 

The common room erupted into howls of laughter, people clambering to catch a glimpse as Zabini looked from Harry to McGonagall and back again, aghast.

 

The night carried on much like that, with the dares and truths getting increasingly more deep, increasingly more embarrassing. More firewhisky was handed around, and everyone varied from slightly tipsy to not quite drunk - with Harry closer to the latter.

 

“What exactly did you three do when you were gone during seventh year?”

 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione glanced between each other, before Ron rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and stared at Padma.

 

“Well.. we were hunting Horcruxes...”

 

And that lead to a whole other conversation. By the time it was past midnight, everyone was either sodded or just plain exhausted. They came to an mutual unspoken agreement that the game was over, and people slowly trickled upstairs until it was only the Golden Trio left in the common room.

 

They lounged around in comfortable silence, the low, crackling embers of the fire a serene background noise. No one bothered to speak, all engrossed in their own thoughts, Ron leaning into Hermione as Harry stared into space, uncorking the bottle from earlier.

 

Malfoy.

 

Harry didn’t know how to properly put it into words, but the realization that he had a crush on Draco - when did he become Draco? - put a sour feeling in his chest. Wasn’t Harry supposed to hate him? Why did it seem so wrong to feel this way about Malfoy?

 

Maybe it was that he knew his friends - or at least Ron - might have a problem with it. Maybe it was no particular reason at all. Maybe, Harry pondered, it was because he was scared of rejection. Maybe it was becausehe knew nothing would come out of his crush. Draco hated him, after all.

 

“Harry, mate, you okay?” Ron asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, but still loud against the silence, which was suddenly not so peaceful and more stifling, at least for Harry.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?” Harry said, but the alcohol was working steadily through him, and he didn’t sound all too convincing.

 

“Harry...” Hermione began, “You know you can tell us anything, right?”

 

Harry did know. He did, but that didn’t stop him from being scared.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Ron sent him a solemn smile, and Hermione mimicked it. “You could just start by telling us a little, if you don’t want to dive into the whole thing?”

 

Her voice was soothing, and Harry found himself blurting it out. Maybe it was the firewhisky, or maybe it was the last of the Veritaserum he hadn’t quite shaken off yet, but here Harry was.

 

“I think... I think I’m gay. Well, bi. I’m just - confused.”

 

Hermione and Ron stilled for a minute, before smiling reassuringly. “Harry, that’s totally fine. No one cares about that stuff! And if you’re confused, you don’t need a label just yet.”

 

“I - thanks guys.” Harry sounded relieved even to his own ears. “But it’s not that. I’m fine with the gay part, really, it’s just...”

 

He fell silent, and his friends respected that. Harry forgot how much he loved them; in that moment, he knew he couldn’t of found better people. He smiled warmly at them, after a long silence, though there was still a tinge of sadness and confusion there.

 

“It’s just... the guy I fancy. He - I shouldn’t like him.”

 

“What do you mean? You can fancy anyone you want - no one’s going to judge you.” Hermione smiled, while Ron smirked.

 

“Unless it’s sugar baby McGonagall - then I might judge you just a bit.” Upon Hermione’s glare, Ron held his hands up in mock surrender, though Harry’s chuckling made him smile.

 

The giggles soon dissolved, and the Golden Trio quickly fell back into seriousness. “I know I can, Hermione, I really do... but it’s almost as if fancying him makes me feel really... uncomfortable. I don’t know how to feel - we wouldn’t work out at all.”

 

His words were starting to slur from a mix of alcohol and exhaustion, and Hermione gently eased out of Ron’s arm, beginning to herd them all upstairs. “You never know until you try, Harry.”

 

§

 

Slytherins, as further proven, were the bane of Harry Potter’s existence. Why else would no one other than Draco Malfoy come down to the common room at this hour?

 

Harry had fallen into bed after the talk with Hermione and Ron. Sleep had taken him before his head even touched the pillow - but barely two hours later, he was up again, as flashes of green and the screams of loved ones made him call out in a cold sweat.

 

The Boy Who Lived had padded down to the common room, and cast a quick spell to heat up the dying embers once more. Their soft orange glow was the only source of light, and it gave Harry a sense of calm. Flopping onto the couch, he stared absently at the fire for what seemed like millennia, but might’ve only been a few seconds. Honestly, Harry had no clue, nor did he really care.

 

He was jolted out of his reprieve by the creak of the stairs, the boy’s stairs, and Harry shot his head around so fast it gave him whiplash. He was still on high alert, his hand instinctively gripping his wand, when Malfoy entered the common room.

 

“Potter,” He greeted with a raised eyebrow, sounding slightly surprised to see him there.

 

“..Malfoy.” Harry returned, feeling his stomach do the weird clenching thing again. Why couldn’t he just be normal and have butterflies?

 

To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy came and sat down on the same couch as him, taking a small book out. He was at the other end, yes, so Harry tried not to overthink it. The couch was closest to the fire - it was the logical choice of seat.

 

Harry took him in. He was peacefully sprawled over the armrest, the soft glow of the embers turning his normally pristine hair golden. Now, it was messy - not nearly as bad as Harry’s, though - and some of the short strands fell into his eyes, prompting a hand to rake through his hair and _oh, that was actually really hot._

 

Fuck. Harry tore his gaze away, his heart in his throat. He desperately prayed his cheeks weren’t too red, and that the dim light of the room would conceal anything else. His hands found each other, fidgeting and rubbing his fingers together, and Harry sat there, definitely overthinking. What happened to not overthinking?

 

He was drawn back to the conversation from earlier - “you never know until you try, Harry” - but Harry was definitely not trying. Malfoy hated him... or maybe he didn’t. They were civil to each other now, but that does not correlate in any way to liking each other, or even being friends.

 

Harry shot another glance at the git, who was already looking up from his book. When they made eye contact, Harry quickly raked his gaze away.

 

That didn’t save him.

 

“Potter, what’s your problem?” Draco said, but it lacked its normal prestigious tone, and maybe that’s what made Harry look over at him, and open his mouth. Maybe it was the leftover Veritaserum in his veins.

 

“Do you...” Harry trailed off, not wanting to be too direct. “I don’t really want to be enemies anymore.”

 

Malfoy looked surprised. “Not at all, Potter. I haven’t considered you an enemy for a long time.”

 

Harry’s breath caught, just a little. God, he was so done for. “Call me Harry?”

 

He knew that was probably too forward, but he couldn’t help himself, and Malfoy looked stunned for a long moment before - “Sure, Po—Harry. Call me Draco.”

 

Harry nodded, feeling warm, knowing for sure he was grinning dumbly and that Draco was probably judging him harshly, but he just couldn’t care. They both returned to their respective pass times - fire staring and a book - and before Harry knew it, he had slid into a dreamless sleep.

 

He must’ve imagined the strong arms carrying him upstairs, and the soft brushing of hair out of his face. It was probably just the house elves levitating him back up to bed - they rather did care about Harry that way.

 

§

 

Maybe sharing a dorm with Slytherins was not, in fact, too horrible. On Hogsmeade weekend, the Golden Trio and the Slytherins decidedly went together. This was mostly because of the new friendship between Hermione and Pansy, but Harry, Ron, Draco, and Blaise got along just fine, too. Surprisingly.

 

The girls walked ahead, deeply engrossed in some topic Harry didn’t even care to breach, and a passive comment about quidditch had lead Ron and Zabini into a heated discussion, leaving Draco and Harry to trail behind the group.

 

The silence was comfortable, and Harry might’ve brushed shoulders with Draco once or twice on pure accident, but they soon struck up a conversation - albeit less intense with it than their peers - and everything was fine.

 

At Hogshead, when Harry and Draco ended up next to each other once more, Pansy only sent them a calculating glance - taking in the look of content on Harry’s face - and mentally made a note to herself.

 

And that is why Harry changed his mind once again - sharing a dorm with the Slytherins was so not okay, because later that night, Pansy had given him the side eye before announcing that another game of truth or dare was to be held. She was on to him, he knew it.

 

It started out the same as before, though the truths and dares got more intense faster this time around, as people were used to it this time. When Pansy got chosen, Harry braved himself, a sickening feeling telling him that she would choose him next, and that whatever she did, he would not enjoy.

 

“Harry, truth or dare?”

 

A long pause. No choice was the right one, here.

 

“Truth?”

 

Pansy grinned evilly, and Harry instantly regretted his decision.

 

“Have you ever fancied a guy in this room?”

 

Quiet. Harry’s blood drained from his face, andHermione looked worried from her seat next to Pansy. Ron, who was next to him, and Blaise, to his other side, turned to him, along with the rest of the room. They were clearly expecting a no, though Ron whispered “Its okay, mate,” and Hermione still held her worried stare.

 

“N—fuck,” The Veritaserum wouldn’t let him deny it, and he directed a deathly glare at Parkinson. “Yes.”

 

There were murmurs, but no one looked disgusted, as Harry feared. Draco was staring quite intensely at him - but Harry couldn’t decipher what type of look it was. That’s when the common room erupted in claps.

 

“Good on ya, Harry!” Seamus applauded, looking proud. “That was brave!”

 

Dean grinned. “So I’m guessing your bi then?”

 

Harry shuffles nervously. “I—well, yeah.”

 

The common room smiled, and everyone looked very supportive. Harry felt warm - loved.

 

“We’re proud of you Harry,” Hermione smiled, and Harry looked abashed. It didn’t need to be such a big deal!

 

“Er, thanks... Padma, truth or dare?”

 

And the game continued from there. Harry’s next few turns weren’t very eventful, but eventually, he got a bad chooser again: Blaise.

 

He could already see the incoming “who do you like?” in Blaise’s eyes, so he chose dare. The Slytherin looked stumped for a moment, before he smirked. What was it with Slytherins and their bloody smirking?

 

“I dare you to hold hands with Draco for the rest of the night.”

 

Harry gulped, and fruitlessly attempted to school his face into a neutral expression. “I think I’ll pass.”

 

“Oh no,” Zabini grinned, moving people around so the seat next to Draco was open. “Is the great Harry Potter _scwared?”_

 

Harry fumed. “No—“

 

“—don’t I get a say in this?” Draco said indignantly, glancing between Blaise and Pansy.

 

“No,” they both replied, and Blaise dragged Harry over to the open spot, before shoving the poor boy’s hand into Draco’s.

 

Harry went red, and his voice was tight as he called on the next person. He was unceremoniously passed the bottle of firewhisky, which he took a few good swigs out of - not a good idea - before handing it to Draco, who he thought could need it too.

 

The blonde took a slight sip before setting it back in the middle of the circle, and as the game went on, he and Harry adjusted their hands from the uncomfortable position Blaise had put them in. They ended up with their fingers loosely laced together, and Harry swore he was blushing all night... at least he could blame that on the firewhisky.

 

The game ended, and once again, Harry was the one of the last people in the common room. It was him, Blaise, and of course, Draco. He and Draco were still holding hands, because Blaise wouldn’t let them let go until it was midnight. “I said all night,” he had smugly reminded, to Harry’s disappointment, and the Slytherin seemed determined to stay until the time was up.

 

They chatted, with Draco making fun of them both because Harry and Blaise were, apparently, light drunks and could hold nothing to the barely tipsy Draco.

 

When midnight came, Blaise left and Harry and Draco unlatched their hands, flexing their fingers and returning the feeling of them. Both got up to follow Zabini upstairs, when Harry, who was fairly drunk and not thinking clearly, grabbed Draco’s arm.

 

“Yes?” The blonde turned, a look of confusion on his face, but Harry was already lurching forward, and quickly slamming their lips together.

 

It wasn’t everything Harry had imagined. There wasn’t explosions or sparks, fire or ice. Well - there were sparks. Harry’s entire body felt electrified, and he drank in the taste of Draco’s soft, unmoving lips, only for mere seconds before he returned to his senses and yanked himself away. Draco stood there, stunned. Meanwhile, Harry’s world fell down around him; there was a crushing feeling in his chest, and he was sure his hands were shaking. He was pale, and full of so, so much regret. How could he do that? He just kissed Draco Malfoy. He just kissed _Draco Malfoy._

 

He had surely just ruined their newfound friendship. Draco would hate him, now. Harry’s throat closed up, and he choked, paralyzed. Fight or flight took over, and suddenly, Harry found himself running, sprinting up the stairs to his room as fast as his feet would carry him, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he slammed his bedroom door behind him and sank down against it.

 

The call of his name, uncertain after him, went unnoticed. And if Harry silently sniffed into his pillow that night, no one needed to know.

 

§

Slytherins were, after all, horrible company. Harry was reminded of that fact the moment he woke up and replayed the nights events, a hole in his chest aching and growing in despair, desperately wishing to be fixed. Wishing that something different had happened, anything that hadn’t left Harry lost and drowning in regret. The pounding hangover didn’t help, either.

 

He didn’t go to breakfast that morning, knowing that he’d have to face Draco. They all sat together, the Golden Trio and the Slytherins, and Harry couldn’t take that right now - didn’t know if he ever could again. If he could ever look Draco in the eye again. If Draco would ever be friends with him again.

 

The insistent rumble of hunger still got Harry out of bed, though, and he skulked down the corridors until he reached the kitchen’s painting. Tickling the pear until it laughed and turned into a doorknob, Harry went inside.

 

He was immediately greeted by Winky, a house elf who adored him, and was offered breakfast and hot chocolate, which he graciously accepted.

 

Harry spent the whole day avoiding Draco and people in general. It was barely evening when a knock on his door and Hermione’s concerned calls egged him out of his recluse.

 

He opened the door and herded them in, bags under his eyes and hair a mess. “Yeah?”

 

“Harry!” Hermione hugged him, and Ron smiled sympathetically as Harry sank down onto the bed. “Are you okay? We haven’t seen you all day! We were worried!”

 

“Yeah guys, I’m fine... I just...”

 

“You don’t look fine, mate.” Ron said doubtfully. “Tell us what’s up.”

 

“I...” Harry went silent for a long, long time. “The guy I fancy.. It’s Draco.”

 

No one quite knew what to say to that.

 

“Harry...” Ron began, and the tone of his voice made Harry want to curl up and die on the spot, but what came out of his mouth was unexpected. “That doesn’t matter, he’s actually a fairly decent bloke... but I’ll be dead before I say it again.”

 

Hermione nodded assurance. “Yeah, now that we’ve gotten to know them all better, it’s not weird at all for you to fancy him. You’re friends, after all.”

 

“Not anymore,” Harry said miserably, looking down at his lap.

 

“What do you mean, not anymore?”

 

“I—I was sodded last night, you know? And... and I snogged him. Just for a second, but...”

 

Harry’s throat closed off again. He felt disgruntled just talking about it - a dark tightness of regret in his chest, making everything about the situation seem utterly hopeless.

 

“I’m taking that he didn’t react well?” Hermione whispered sadly, while Ron just placed a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder, taking a seat on the bed next to him.

 

“I... no, well... I might’ve ran away before he could react?”

 

A long silence.

 

“Harry, you idiot!” Hermione exclaimed, her tone slightly outraged. “You can’t know the feelings aren’t mutual if you don’t let him talk to you about it!”

 

“It’s _Draco,”_ Harry replied, “Of course they’re not bloody mutual! I don’t need to be good at Divination to figure that out!”

 

“You don’t know that!”

 

“He hasn’t sought me out, has he? That’s proof enough he’s uncomfortable about it!”

 

“He doesn’t have the Marauders Map, Harry! He probably hasn’t been able to find you!”

 

Harry let out a breath, running a hand through his wild mess of curls. “Look, Hermione, I’m sorry for worrying you, but it’s not going to work out. He - he just doesn’t feel that way about me.”

 

“But Harry—“

 

“Hey,” Ron interrupted Hermione, and gave Harry’s shoulder a squeeze. “I think Harry wants some time to think everything over.”

 

“Yes, but—“

 

“‘mione...”

 

Ron looked at Harry, smiled again, and ushered Hermione out of the room. “It’ll be right, Harry.”

 

 _I sure hope so._ Harry thought, but couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that it would.

 

§

 

The next day, Harry went through the motions like normal - besides the fact that he was eating meals in the kitchens - and successfully avoided Draco. He meandered around the castle, caught up on homework, and hung out with Ron and Hermione, when they were away from the Slytherins.

 

On his way back from dinner, it happened.

 

Harry was strolling down the corridor when Draco had turned the corner. The boys had both paused, and then a very angry looking Draco Malfoy was storming towards Harry, who promptly turned around and tried to continue casually in the other direction.

 

This did not work, obviously. Since when was Harry that lucky?

 

Before he could comprehend it, Draco had all but grabbed him and slammed him into the wall, seething.

 

Harry was waiting for words of disgust, but they never came. Instead, “Harry bloody Potter, I am going to _kill_ you!”

 

Harry just stared up at him, aghast, and Draco continued furiously.

 

“You absolute bloody imbecile! Who does that! Who just goes up and snogs someone and then _runs away_ like a fucking coward before they can even respond! I spent the whole bloody day yesterday worrying over your sorry ass and you didn’t even have the decency to come apologize!”

 

“Why would I—“

 

“No, Potter! Who in their right mind does that? You just ran away before I could—before I—“

 

“—Sorry?” Harry interrupted in a small voice, his heart sinking in his chest. “I just—I didn’t want to have to hear you say that you didn’t like me that way... So—so I ran away before you could.”

 

“What?” Draco all but yelled, their faces inches apart. “You thought—Harry, you idiot! You should have given me a chance to talk!”

 

“Why?” Harry spat venomously. “Why bother? I already know. No need to rub it in! I—“

 

And he was cut off by a frustrated Draco slamming his hands on either side of Harry’s face and crashing their lips together. It was heat, it was anger, and it was forgiveness, all wrapped into one. This time, it was perfect. There were explosions, fire, ice, and sparks, oh so many sparks, and Harry reveled in the intensity of it. Their lips fit perfectly, like a key in a socket, and Harry was instantly drunk on the feeling.

 

When Draco pulled away just enough to press feather light kisses along Harry’s jaw, he murmured softly. “Harry, you absolute tosser, I like you too.”

 

And if later, almost all of eighth year caught them snogging in the common room, well, that was their problem, wasn’t it?

 

After all, as Pansy and Blaise burst into raucous laughter, Harry knew that yeah, sharing a dorm with the Slytherins wasn’t, in fact, half bad.


End file.
